


Swallowing Fire

by brumalbreeze



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brumalbreeze/pseuds/brumalbreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fire juggler, jester, and magician: a traveling caravan is visiting the town. They may seem to be acting, but the performers have bonds deeper and stronger than the mere cursory glance could find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallowing Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, this is one of my few older _NARUTO_ works that I'm not too ashamed to admit to. XD Beta-read by Nadramon on ff.net.

Quick steps skipped down the dusty road. Children were laughing, and the entire village was astir. The sleepy town, usually milling around in seemingly aimless pursuits, was alive and thriving today. Shouts could be heard echoing past corners and over rooftops, excited and expectant.

A travelling caravan was in, and this time, there were entertainers. The group wasn’t large enough to be called a “circus” (there were only four people), but the novelty of visitors in the small village was enough to cause idle hands to come out for a glimpse of what was happening.

All the action was taking place in the center of the village market. Shrieks of laughter pierced through the still and dusty air, giving it life and an upbeat sensation. There were three groups of people clustered together, each watching a separate show. Near the edges of each group, the border of people fluctuated and blurred, some leaving their circle to join another, some entering the throng with craned necks and tipped-toes. There was constant motion and organized confusion about, and equilibrium was never met.

In the center of the leftmost huddle, an entertainer was dancing with fire. There was a boy, fifteen or sixteen at most, dressed in a dark blue vest embroidered with shining silver threads. His arms were bare and slick with oil or grease. Around his waist was a knotted rope holding up his pants, tight and close to skin. There was a half-smirk on his face, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to a full smile. He snapped—left hand, right hand—and flames trickled from his fingers and cascaded down like red-orange water. Children watched with their eyes wide with amazement and mouths opened.

The boy shifted his head, his dark bangs sticking to his cheek before he shook them away. He swept his right arm in front of him; a sudden sheet of fire waved out. His audience “Aah!”ed and backed away from the heat and the innate fear of dangerous flames. A flickering playful light glimmered in the performer’s dark eyes, giving him a healthy orange glow as he coaxed the fire onto his right palm. Tamely, the fire burned, apparently not interested in consuming its master’s flesh and skin.

With his left hand, the young boy lifted a finger to his lips, silently hushing his audience, as if the flame would flicker away if they were too loud. Compelled by his serious and mildly mocking face, they silenced themselves, unconsciously leaning forward to see what he would do next. Slowly, the flame licked its way up to his wrist and embraced his forearm tentatively before racing up it. The boy gave out a short bark of laughter, more out of habit than amusement.

His right hand closed, and the flame there died out. He shrugged his shoulder, and the flame jumped around his neck, circling it, and traveled down his left arm, a snake being charmed by its owner. As it slithered across the boy’s body, its tail whispered away, leaving nothing but a trail of dusty white wisps from his unburned skin.

It was clear that the boy had total command of the fickle element, able to beckon it to his will.

He told it to jump, and it jumped; he told it to dance, and it danced; he told it to die, and it died. There was no doubt that the fire feared _him_ and not the other way around.

Once the languid fire-snake reached his left palm, the boy urged it to stay on the tip of his index, middle, and ring fingers, which he had brought up to a point. He cupped his hands together, cradling the flame like a ball. Suddenly, the embers grew bigger and bigger without any apparent cause. The stunned audience murmured amongst themselves, turning heads but never letting their gaze wander from the sight.

Without warning, the boy threw up one of his hands and a whorl of fire shot up—fireworks! Fireworks without the explosion, but fireworks all the same. He did this multiple times, over and over again until a wide berth had been given, and he was somehow manipulating flowers and stars to bloom momentarily in the air.

After that brief show, he gathered up his flames onto his fingers again. His hands appeared to be a huge candle, with his fingertips as the wick.

With a cocky and self-assured sweep of a glance at the audience, he pursed his lips and put his fingers up to his mouth, kissing the fire chastely. His dark hair, blue in the right lighting, turned orange and yellow sporadically. White teeth and wet tongue were shown as the dark-haired boy opened his mouth and sucked the fire into his mouth. For a still and silent moment, he had his cheeks puffed out and fingers lightly touching his lips. His chest swelled—

He threw his head back and breathed fire like a dragon. A huge jet of fire streamed from his mouth where it mushroomed into a huge fireball and crisped the air to a stifling temperature. The village square seemed to erupt and burn with a dangerous light. A ripple of appreciation flickered over the crowd, and the children let out especially surprised and pleased squeals. But just as quickly as the fireball came, it went, leaving the atmosphere chillingly cold even in its hot temperature, and a distinct feeling of loss swept over the people. That was the finale, and what a grand finale it was.

Half-regretful groans joined the zealous applause the boy received as he bowed gracefully, his half-smirk never leaving his face. Sharp whistles and gruff encouragement were thrown at him.

Then, there was a jingle of bells and a huge commotion, which drew scattered attention to one point. The middle group of people who had been watching another entertainer was swelling and migrating over to the fire-breather’s mass. Tinkling laughter and good-humored cheers came by. Within the cluster split a wide road as children and adults scrambled out of the way to let the performer through.

This one was a blond boy, much the same age as the fire-breather. This new boy’s clothing was bright and elaborate, contrasting starkly to the fire-manipulator’s. There was a joker’s hat, complete with jingling bells, sitting askew on his blond locks and, on his face, a lopsided grin to go with it. He had striped clothing adorned with more silver bells that announced his every move. Orange and red drew gazes to his cheerful clothing and motion. His blue eyes sparkled as he laughed constantly, skipping and trotting around, as if stepping on hot coals. Six scars, three on each cheek, stretched as he smiled. Occasionally, he tumbled or made a face at the children following him.

As he neared the fire-breather’s circle, he took out six small, colorful juggling balls and began to throw them into the air with a flourish. He threw them expertly, behind his back, under his leg, while spinning and laughing, without looking, without caring. Soon, he was close to his dark-haired companion, and his crowd had assimilated into his fellow performer’s group until it was one huge circle of people.

The dark-haired boy had his arms crossed, and his eyes flickering with a playful flame, though not as playful as the blonde’s. His smirk grew until he was looking at his friend in a clearly mocking manner. Instead of being insulted, the jester stuck out his tongue (still juggling) and taunted him by skipping on his feet. He grinned and mouthed a word across the space that separated them: “Show-off.” With that, he threw three of the balls at him in quick succession and tilted his head this way and that, like an impatient child.

His partner caught them with ease and immediately threw them back, starting a relatively simple pattern across the square. The blonde began juggling and throwing the balls back with one hand while he rummaged for more with the other. Soon, there were seven! nine! thirteen! fifteen! balls being thrown back and forth. The crowd was ecstatic by the display of skill and expertise that the two boys showed.

The rhythm and pattern changed constantly, here with a flick of a wrist, there with a longer pause. While the fire-breather stood still and fluidly mastered the motions of juggling, the jester was constantly moving around on his feet, prancing and hopping. His over-exaggerated motions entertained the audience to no end; he was even able to coax poorly hidden smiles from the gruffest individuals and made the younger urchins double up in pure, naïve pleasure. His own excited and melodious laughter mingled with their joy. Subtly, he nodded at the fire-breather, and one of the juggling balls caught aflame.

Some people gasped at the suddenness of the action and their eyes were trained on the single, burning ball as it travelled back and forth between the two boys. Each time it landed in the jester’s hand, he let go of it rapidly and shook it, blowing on it as if it would help. Without missing a beat, his other hand would toss back the rest of the balls at his partner. It was obvious that the fire was not harming him, but the throng still gasped each time he touched it.

But that wasn’t it. Soon, two more, three more, four more balls caught on fire, and the show grew more spectacular. Before they knew it, all of the juggling balls were burning and the two boys were walking closer and closer. The blonde was jerking his head this way and that, pulling faces that were obviously made to “mock” the other boy. He threw his head back, an unwieldy and stubborn colt. His companion’s smirk never wavered as the two of them drew nearer, until a mere meter or so kept them apart.

The silent exchange between them escalated, and they started to juggle faster and faster, the fire becoming a blur and leaving a trail of heat behind, but nothing else. Their audience’s pulse quickened unconsciously, their pseudo-battle drawing their breaths short and taut. The boys’ eyebrows were furrowed angrily, and their angry features were emphasized further by the flickering shadows that the flames gave them.

Jeers and cheers for either side rippled through the huge mass. They were waiting for someone to slip, someone to get burned, someone to drop one of the juggling balls—

But abruptly, something completely unexpected and shocking happened—

All of the juggling balls disappeared.

The two boys looked around, baffled at their empty hands. Their previous banter bled away at their sudden predicament. The jester hopped and swirled around, looking under his hat and prying apart the fire-breather’s clenched fists as if the juggling balls—all of them—would be found there. Likewise, the audience chattered and asked each other what happened.

It was as if the balls had just magically disappeared; not even the smallest fleck of a flame was left.

A sweet, high laugh trickled to the boys’ and audience’s ears. Their heads turned, and yet _another_ throng of people surged forward. Now, a massive group had formed as the final performer joined their fun.

She had short, pink hair and a dainty cape clasped around her neck and shoulders. A luxurious looking silk skirt was swirling around her as she clapped her hands together cheerfully. Her green eyes flashed this way and that at the audience.

The two boys looked at her in an annoyed manner, and the jester took a step forward. He waggled a finger accusingly at her, but she said nothing. Instead, she shrugged and laughed again, showing him her empty hands. Intrigued, the blonde trotted forward and peered into her small palms, taking them into his own and turning them over and over again. When he let go, she withdrew them and snapped twice. Each time, a small flower appeared between her two hands, and she laughed, holding them up to the jester’s bewildered face. In one hand, she held orange flowers, and in the other, blue ones.

With a giggle, she tucked two of the orange flowers behind the jester’s ear, skipped past him, and went over to the fire-breather. Since he was much taller than her, she waved her empty hand beckoningly at him, and he hesitantly leaned down to her. As expected, she tucked the other two flowers behind his ear and spun in place, apparently pleased with her handiwork.

The audience laughed and cheered at the magician girl’s antics and tricks, clapping loudly. She wasn’t overtly foolish like the jester, but her own charm captivated hearts and captured smiles.

She made her way to a small child near the front of the crowd and leaned down, motioning for him to hold out his palm. When he did, she opened her own out widely and showed him that there was nothing in it. He nodded, completely captivated by her pretty, smiling face, and then looked at his empty palm when she touched a finger onto it. She made the motion of grasping with her other hand, telling him to close his small fingers around hers.

Once he did, she closed her eyes and pulled her finger out quickly; a long string of colorful silk erupted from the child’s clenched fist. He gasped and fell onto his bottom, shocked that something like that had come from his hand. Baffled, he looked at it again, but nothing was there. The pretty girl had jumped up and was waving the light ribbon of tied silk above her head.

More laughter and cheers. They were doing wonderfully with entertaining their audience; they loved them.

The two boys stayed in the center of the empty circle as the girl continued to show the villagers her mysterious silken rope. The jester suddenly stomped his feet loudly, looking like an angry and spoiled child. She stopped and turned around, tilting her head innocently to one side. Her pink hair spilled over her cheek as she gazed at him with an ignorant expression. The jester looked angry and flailed his arms wildly.

Behind the blonde, the fire-breather had his arms crossed again and was wearing a stern and serious expression, apparently taking the side of his friend. The girl merely shrugged, acting as if she had no idea what they were trying to say. Then, the blonde began making motions with his hands, as if he were juggling, except without the balls.

The magician suddenly had an epiphany and her mouth became a small “o.” Quickly, she nodded and put out one finger, as if telling them to wait. Everyone around them waited with bated breaths as the play went on wordlessly.

With her hand grasping the long silk ribbon, she took on an expression of upmost concentration as she thought about where the juggling balls could have been at. She sighed over-exaggeratedly and held up the silk ribbon to the two boys. The jester shook his head vehemently, making the motions of juggling again. He didn’t want the ribbon.

She stuck out her bottom lip and pouted, displeased that he wouldn’t take her peace offering. Then, she pushed the ribbon into her hands until it was a crushed mass. With effort, she pushed her hands together and twisted her arms. She paused and looked up, green eyes alight with surprise. When she withdrew one of her hands, a colorful juggling ball appeared. A bewildered look came upon her. Quickly, she threw the ball away—and at the two boys. The jester jumped in front of his companion and clutched the ball possessively to his chest. The crowd chuckled.

As the pink-haired magician pressed her hands together, she looked shocked again. Like before, when she took her hand away, there was another ball in her hand. “Oohs” and “aahs” came from their audience.

Their act quickened now.

Without even reaching in her hand, the magician snapped and threw ball after ball at the two boys, who caught them expertly. After a dozen repetitions of this exchange, even the snapping of her fingers couldn’t coax out any more juggling balls. She did this a few more times without success, and she pouted again, looking down at her empty hands.

Meanwhile, the jester was jumping up and down excitedly, overjoyed to have his toys back. So elated was he that he threw his arms up and scattered the balls into the air. In a moment of panic, he scrambled around, catching one and throwing it back up, then running elsewhere to do the same. The fire-breather let out a short laugh and threw his juggling balls into the air too until they were miraculously juggling again.

The blonde whistled loudly, attracting the attention of the mock-despondent magician. She looked up just in time for the two boys to throw some of the juggling balls toward her. There was no hesitation as she, too, started juggling.

This back and forth exchange in their triangle lasted for another minute or so until the balls started to disappear one by one again, at the disposal of the magician’s quick snaps. Soon, there were no more juggling balls in circulation and the pink-haired girl and jester laughed, prancing around. The fire-breather remained solemn and snapped too, but instead of flowers or ribbons, his trademark fire sparks sprinkled from his fingers.

The three of them met up at the middle of their adoring crowd and faced outward. They bowed deeply, accepting the cheers and whistles, smiling gratefully. Their eyes and cheeks were flushed with exertion, and a thin sheen of sweat shone on their foreheads as they acted the last few seconds of their performance. When they stood up again, the magician girl threw out mysterious handfuls of flowers at the cheering crowd.

The colorful, bell-decorated jester’s hat was swept off the head of blond locks and waved around cheerfully. His smile was still wide and friendly as he skipped around the circle of their crowd. Though mostly poor, the people were in a good mood after their show and were willing to give one or two coins for their efforts. Others discreetly moved away, trying to avoid the embarrassment of not donating.

When a few timid children offered their sparse change in exchange for the laughs they gave them, the blonde shook his head gently and pushed their hands back. The tiny tots blushed and gaped at the handsome blonde, silently admonished for being too generous. Though it did not seem apparent, the jester was carefully skipping over some of those who were offering money to him. He was avoiding those who looked as if they could barely support themselves; he was always laughing and twirling, his hat filled with coins of silver and gold, but never from those who seemed unable to give any more than their appreciation.

Soon, the large crowd had thinned out, save for a few young girls who had rushed over to the pink-haired magician and were begging her for a bloom or two for their hair and mothers. With a giggle, she obliged, first showing them her empty hands, then drawing tiny flowers from her admirers’ hair. She tucked some of them behind their ears and handed the rest to their chubby hands. They shrieked with laughter and ran off shyly, looking back now and again with a blush on their face and a smile pulling up the corners of their mouths.

After the jester was done heckling the last of the remaining customers, he skipped back to his two companions, his lopsided smile even more endearing and familiar than before.

He looked immensely proud and pleased. He proffered his motley hat at them, showing them the contents. The cloth was laden with many glittering coins, somewhat reminiscent of the blue eyes watching them. The crowd had been especially generous this time. Happily, he told them how many people donated and how much praise they had received.

Emerald eyes smiled back at him as the magician girl pushed her pink hair out of her sweaty face. She was pleased by the results as well and began chatting with him idly. Suddenly, she stopped and looked around the emptying square, as if looking for someone. The girl queried the whereabouts of their guardian, who was nowhere in sight.

The blonde pinched the hat shut with his hand and scanned the area. Then, he shrugged, ignorant to where he could be. His interest was caught by the taller boy standing behind the magician. He laughed loudly, attracting his friend’s eyes to him. The jester called his name anyway, just to re-emphasize his point. The fire-breather’s name came out as quick and snapping as a burst of flames: Sasuke.

Sasuke’s response was minimal and noncommittal. He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly.

Tan fingers ran through the jester’s messy locks before he shook his bangs out of his eyes. They exchanged a few more teases and words before the blonde turned to the girl and grinned again. While speaking to her, he said her name several times, almost like an afterthought. “Sakura” slipped off his tongue just as easily as “Sasuke” was hissed out. He told her something witty and funny; she laughed prettily and shook her head.

Dismissing her friend’s playfulness, she smiled and motioned for them to start walking. It would get dark soon, and they had to find their guardian. Sakura walked off, in front, while the two boys followed behind her. The skipping play in their steps was noticeably calmer, as if their show had been performed by some other entity, by their doppelgangers.

Two of them were contemplatively quiet, but the last of them was still babbling away, as if the jester in him was innate and not merely an act.

As they walked, the blonde ran back and forth between his companions idly, here and there a rapid step, a gentle word, and a witty jab. He mostly laughed at nothing, sounding more like a prefix or suffix to his sentences. There was nothing hollow or unfeeling about his laughs though, no matter how unnaturally frequent they were. It certainly seemed as if the blonde had nothing but happiness and brightness.

His pink-haired friend was more apt to giggle and laugh with him as she joked and nodded at his words. Occasionally, she would brush back his hair from his eyes, smiling and shrugging. He would lean closer, just a bit, but otherwise kept his distance. Though the touches were familiar, they were not intimate. If anything, they seemed more like maternal caresses.

The blonde tilted his head at her now and again, coaxing an answer or two out of her before scuttling back to his quieter, dark-haired partner. All he ever got out of him was a quiet chuckle or a smirk, never quite a smile or a full blown laugh. Even the ones he gave during his performances were short barks of forced laughter.

Teasingly, the blonde brought his hand up to the fire-breather’s face and yanked at one of his bangs. In return, the boy growled and swatted his hand away. He said his name in a low, threatening way, dragging out the “o” sound in his name until it was a rumbling growl. “Naruto,” he had said simply and warningly.

Instead of shrinking away, the jester laughed good-humoredly.

Suddenly, the blonde hopped in front of Sasuke and pointed at the flower still tucked behind his ear. A toothy grin followed. Before the dark-haired boy could respond, he laughed and motioned at his own flower, which he had forgotten to remove. Carefully, he extracted the flowers from his hair and peered at them. He asked Sasuke something, speaking more to the flowers than his companion and turned the blooms round and round.

At his first sentence, Sasuke had already pulled the flowers out of his tangled hair and held them in his hand. They always forgot to remove them. He took a second to look at them before tucking them into one of the vest’s pocket. Naruto, having no pockets, shrugged and slipped the orange blossoms back behind his ear.

With a turn of his head, he beamed at Sasuke almost proudly, the flowers peeking out from his blond hair.

Sasuke teased him and yanked at his earlobe gently, much like how Naruto had tugged on his hair.

Naruto laughed freely and pushed his hand away, grinning cheekily before sticking out his tongue. He ran back to Sakura and recommenced his inane babbling.

Sasuke stopped listening to Naruto and looked around the village. They had long ago exited the market square and were wandering the streets. If Kakashi would be anywhere, it would be back at their caravan, next to their inn.

Silently, he sighed, tired from their earlier act. They would stay here for another two days, perhaps, before moving again. He looked up the sky. Clear blue was lending itself to warmer shades now, and an occasional cloud or two splattered over the huge expanse.

Tomorrow, their act would renew itself again, with a few adjustments here and there, but essentially the same.

Same old, same old….

* * *

The next two days, they indeed did their act again. There was just as much people as there had been the first day. Everyone was still fascinated by their act, stunned by the fire that shrank and swirled at Sasuke’s snaps, amazed by Naruto’s antics and acts, fascinated by Sakura’s flowers and flourish.

But soon, they had to leave and bade their faithful crowd a last goodbye. Many of the children and a good number of adults saw them off at the worn road leading out of the village.

Again, it was the three young performers and their watchful guardian who, for the most part, was not very watchful at all. The horses were led by either Sasuke or Naruto, and the reigns were usually slack in Kakashi’s hands. It seemed that he had better things to do, like read that tattered old book of his. Sakura usually sat inside of the caravan or walked beside it.

The four of them had been travelling together for many years now. First it had only been Kakashi, who had then been a wandering traveler. He rescued Sakura unwittingly when he bought her from a lesser fate as a slave. Naruto was a forced addition when the pink-haired girl intervened on a group of boys bullying him. The girl had pleaded and begged Kakashi for a friend, and the older man couldn’t bear the puppy-dog eyes she gave him. He often tried to act tough, but the truth was that he was a bit weak to all of his students’ pleas.

Sasuke was the last addition to their troupe, having been found huddling in a cold corner one winter night as the three of them trekked through a new village.

At first, the boy had been reluctant and too proud to accept any help from them until Naruto had walked up and smacked him across the head. They fought after that, Kakashi holding Sakura back and watching carefully. He knew that if it was anyone who could convince the stubborn boy to join them, it would be Naruto. The blonde had an uncanny ability to convince anyone of practically anything. Once they had settled their differences, Sasuke had diffidently agreed to join them, upon the basis that Naruto and he had a grudge to settle.

But that was it for Kakashi. He was not willing to take on any more runts. Raising the three of them had been “bad” enough.

In an effort to stay alive and earn money, the three children learned separate acts from Kakashi, who had been a previous circus actor before he decided to leave on his own. They had learned quickly, each affiliated and suited best for a certain act. Carefully, they perfected their show until it bled smoothly with one another’s.

Their history stretched back for a long time. They had been together for almost ten years now.

Being wanderers, they never stayed in one place for long—a week at most—before moving on. They earned what they could by stopping at small villages and cities, performing for the amusement of the people. Yet no matter how hungry or poor they got, the troupe would never accept money from needy families.

Mothers with half a dozen urchins hanging around their skirts were skipped around by the jubilant Naruto, scraggly ruffians were patted on the head but otherwise ignored, and gruff-looking (but essentially meek) men with tattered clothes and hardly a sole to be stepping on were elegantly bowed to; however, from these people, never was a coin taken from.

It was not a “pride” thing as much as it was a “moral” thing to do. For them, who could go around the country exploring and playing, the money from the poor was the least of their worries. It was the rich and well-off that they were willing to accept donations from.

Yet, eight out of ten times, it would be those very same people holding out dulled (and undoubtedly treasured) coins to them, and not those sporting stiff collars and the occasional pearl around their neck. Indeed, that was how the rich got richer and the poor got poorer.

Even with their silent policy, the four of them were fairly well off in terms of essential necessities. With them, they had two horses, three tents, plenty of clothing, and a good stock of food and water. There were, of course, their costumes and miscellaneous trinkets, but other extravagant luxuries were not practical, and there was hardly any of _that_ onboard.

Now, all their things were packed up and rolling down at a leisurely pace down the road that had soon become nonexistent, save for a few barren patches of grass here and there. They had gotten instructions from a villager as to how to get to the next town over. Their journey would take about another five days, but the weather seemed fair enough.

They were dressed in regular clothes, which had subdued tones without the silver thread linings and jingling bells. Plain shirts and pants (a skirt for Sakura) made them look just as normal as the next person over, not children capable of teasing fire, coaxing laughs, or conjuring silken ribbons.

Sasuke and Naruto were walking side by side, next to the caravan’s bumping side. There were few trees to offer them respite from the sun, so they strolled on the side where the caravan had casted a shadow. Generally, Naruto was bubbling over with energy and enthusiasm, but enough years traveling around had taught him to relax and conserve it until they got to the next village. Their audience appreciated it more than his long-time companions.

At the moment, he was calmly keeping pace with his quiet friend and twisting a strand of long grass between his fingers. Occasionally, he pinched off an end of it with his fingernail and looked with apparent fascination as his nail was stained green. Now and again, a low murmur rumbled from his throat, and he looked to his side for a response from Sasuke. His light eyelashes fluttered as he blinked and looked away, worrying at the blade of grass again.

It wouldn’t be until a while later before Sasuke answered, not because he was slow at comprehending the question, but merely because he knew that if he took more time, then Naruto would be more likely to stay quiet for longer. His voice was deeper and more monotone than Naruto’s, which was lively and animated, even in the most hushed whispers.

For some hours, they continued their question and answer game until their legs tired, and they decided to join Sakura and Kakashi in the caravan. Running up to the front, Naruto slowed the horses down so that Sasuke and he could safely jump aboard. Kakashi only stopped reading for a second to see what was happening before resuming.

Sasuke was waiting near the rear of the caravan and climbed on once it started slowing. Naruto joined him a few seconds later. The horses were coaxed into walking again, and they continued their bumpy journey. Sakura was sitting near the front, where there was more sunlight, and was gazing out idly, her short, pink hair loose and trailing around her shoulders. She seemed bored and sleepy, though not enough to be taking a nap yet.

There was little space inside of the caravan—just enough for them to be sitting against the walls of it with their legs slightly bent. Since Sasuke and Naruto were sitting face-to-face, their legs had to be arranged carefully so that they were between each other’s. It was difficult to get into a comfortable position, with all the knick-knacks and awkward packages they had in there, but after some shifting, moving, and grunting, they were able to mold their bodies an adequately good place.

Bathed in the dusty darkness, Sasuke and Naruto were compelled to stay silent for a while longer.

The blonde had not abandoned his blade of grass (now only a third of its original length). He twisted the poor thing between his fingers over and over again, enjoying the feel of it tickling him. Naruto inclined his head, just to cure his boredom, but it didn’t work out very well. Suddenly, he got an idea. He looked up at Sasuke.

The other boy had his eyes closed and head tilted back, hands clasped in his lap. One leg was between Naruto’s, and the other was next to his right foot. His ankle was within reach. Deviously, Naruto took the grass and started poking Sasuke’s bared ankle. The only sign that Sasuke felt it was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows and a mild pull downward of his lips. Naruto grinned.

Again, he ran the blade over the pale skin, trying hard to suppress his laughter. Sasuke absently reached down to his ankle and scratched at it, but otherwise kept his eyes closed. The third time Naruto did it, Sasuke’s eyes snapped open, and he was caught red-handed.

He became angry and yelled at the blonde, but all he got was a laugh and a shrug, dancing eyes and a dimple on one side of his friend’s cheek. Sasuke glared at him with no effect.

Curiosity piqued by the raucousness of the boys, Sakura looked their way, green eyes dulled by the sudden shadow that fell across her face. She raised an eyebrow good-humoredly. Naruto smiled at her widely and winked, which elicited a giggle from her. When her eyes glanced over at Sasuke, she hid a smile of her own behind her hand; he looked incredibly peeved.

Sighing at their silliness, Sakura said nothing but drew her knees closer to her body. She _did_ love those two boys so much. For another few minutes, she watched as they bickered. Sasuke was swatting away Naruto’s hand and scolding him while the blonde merely chuckled and laughed, completely unfazed by the boy’s vehemence. Sometimes, she couldn’t tell who was the one playing with fire all the time—Sasuke or Naruto.

Smiling to herself, the girl returned her gaze outside, leaving the two of them. Her mind subconsciously blocked out the ruckus they were causing.

They would settle their differences the same way they did it the first time, she knew. Several years ago, she might have tried to intervene, but now she did nothing. She was used to it; of course, at the beginning, Sakura was shocked (and a bit indignant) at the boys’ behavior.

Initially, it had been Naruto’s outright attack on Sasuke the first time they met. They scuffled on the frozen ground, grunting and cursing vulgarly (which Sakura delicately shut her ears to) at each other, but even after that, the boys’ violent nature and volatile fights alarmed her.

Naruto had always treated her rather civilly, and was always a little overeager to please her. He always smiled at her and tried to win her favor through small tricks and plays, so when the usually sweet (if not a bit mischievous) clown became rude and rowdy, Sakura was beyond surprised.

She soon learned, however, that the only way Sasuke and Naruto were ever going to “get along” was by being rude and rowdy. Initially, they both ended up with more bruises and cuts than Sakura could count, but, by some reluctant understanding between the two, their fights slowly mellowed into verbal spars. It wasn’t to say that they _never_ fought (Sasuke’s harsh wit met badly with Naruto’s quick pride), but at least they weren’t as absurdly frequent as they were years and years ago.

Her hazy mind returned to the future, and she was blissfully aware of the quietude that had regained hold in the caravan. Sakura turned her head to see how things had settled, found Naruto with a bruise forming on his cheek, eyes closed, and mouth gaping open. She wasn’t sure if he had been punched unconscious from Sasuke, or merely knocked out after settling their fight, but she wasn’t too inclined to find out. From the way Sasuke was glaring at the blonde with his arms crossed and knees tense, she guessed it was the latter possibility. Of _course_ Naruto could so easily shrug off fights like that. She rolled her eyes and smiled slightly.

How could she ever stop loving those two?

* * *

Sasuke’s favorite element, fire, was crackling in a controlled circle of stones. It flickered peevishly at being contained, but stayed quiet. Sakura poked at it with the end of a burnt stick before leaving it alone.

They had finally settled for the night after their long journey, and the boys were still setting up the tents when Kakashi came back with fresh water from a nearby river. Dinner was simple and plain, as it usually was, and first shift was taken by Sasuke and Naruto. The other two retired in their respective tents until the shift hours were over, and they had to switch. Despite being mere wandering entertainers, the unmarked roads between villages were always dangerous, due to robbers. Guarding their few belongings was an important job to undertake every night.

Sasuke was sitting on a log near the fire when Naruto crawled out of their unoccupied tent and settled next to him quietly. The two of them watched the fire intently as the night passed. Despite the morning and afternoon’s heat, night had chilled considerably, leaving it comfortably cool. Where the fire’s glow touched, their skin warmed, and the would-be cold winds didn’t harm them.

Shadows crept indecisively on the ground as the fire snapped at the air irritably, but the dark-haired fire-manipulator calmed it down with some prods of a stick. Naruto turned his face to watch as Sasuke expertly fed and soothed his “pet.” Warm light, eerie in certain situations, gave their skin a delicate glow. Sasuke’s eyelashes looked so long in the moving light. The blonde looked up to the sky.

For a few seconds, the imprint of flames burned behind his eyelids each time he blinked, but the blue-red light soon faded away, and he was able to enjoy the starry night in peace. Between pricks of dark, seamless cloth, stars shone and winked occasionally. Around them, crickets were chirping, though the occasional loud crack from the fire would mute them momentarily. Naruto loved nights like this. They made him feel so at peace.

He sighed and looked down again. His friend had stopped messing with the flames and was gazing around idly. Naruto nudged him on the arm playfully, grin firmly in place. The bruise he received that afternoon had already faded away; he had always been a quick healer.

 A raised eyebrow was his only response for his troubles. The grin melted into a rather peculiar smile. Sasuke’s lips tugged downward, slightly concerned for the blonde’s well-being. It wasn’t often that Naruto would look like that—like he wanted to say something but didn’t. Before he could even ask what was wrong, however, Naruto looked away somewhat nervously.

Naruto picked up the stick Sasuke had placed earlier in the space between them and began to bother the fire. Unlike his dark-haired friend, the flames didn’t particularly like him, and snapped back. He didn’t seem to care. Slowly, his expression grew solemn and closed; Sasuke knew he was thinking hard. Half of him wanted to tease Naruto and make him break out of his queer mood, but he held his tongue. Whatever was bothering the blonde, he would soon tell; otherwise, he wouldn’t bother looking disgruntled at all.

Silence spanned over the minutes as they sat, unmoving.

Naruto’s voice nearly startled Sasuke when his friend spoke up, the first time since they had started watching the night.

“Hey, Sasuke, have you ever—” he stopped to scratch at his cheek “—kissed someone?”

He was a bit taken aback from the random question. Sasuke snapped back, his answer drawn by surprise. “No.” Despite the unintentional harshness of his answer, Naruto didn’t seem to be affected by it. He rolled his shoulders up and down.

“Oh.” He began to scratch at the bark stuck on the branch he held. “Neither have I,” he provided aimlessly, shifting a stone of the enclosed barrier around the fire.

Sasuke blinked and slowly turned his attention to the fire again. He hadn’t expected that to come out of Naruto’s mouth, but the “conversation” was dropped as quickly as it was picked up. Stillness wrapped around them for a few more minutes until the blonde interrupted it again.

“Are you curious about it?”

“No.”

“Oh…. I see.”

Something in the fire cracked.

“Um.” Blue eyes turned their gaze to Sasuke’s averted one. Feeling Naruto’s eyes on him, the fire-manipulator shifted to look at him.

“What?” he asked, a small frown on his lips.

“ _I’m_ curious about it.”

Sasuke made a noise in the back of his throat. “Ask Sakura then.”

By the way Naruto scrunched up his nose, lips, and eyebrows, he didn’t find it a very appealing idea.  “That’d be weird though.”

 _You’re practically asking_ me _then. That’s even weirder_ , Sasuke thought. Aloud he said, “Kissing girls isn’t weird for guys.”

“No…. But kissing Sakura is. I mean, isn’t that kinda like kissing…” he paused, trying to find a close enough term, “Kakashi?”

The dark-haired boy stared at him.

“Oh, no—no, I meant, he’s kinda like a dad to us, right? Well, isn’t Sakura like a mom to us? Sort of? O-Or like a sister?”

Sasuke looked away. “Aren’t I like your brother then?”

Slowly, Naruto scratched the back of his head. “I… I guess.” He stared at his hands sullenly. The branch twisted around in his grasp. “But you’re different, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t see what was so “different” about himself, but he didn’t ask. Naruto seemed to be trying to figure things out in his head. His eyebrows were heavily scrunched together.

“I don’t know. You’re just different to me,” he nodded resolutely at the flames. “You’ve… always been. Kinda.” Naruto laughed. “It makes sense in my head.”

Without truly understanding, Sasuke nodded.

Next to him, Naruto dropped the stick on the floor and watched it wobble a bit. “Can we still try?” he blurted out to the floor.

Sasuke started. Even though the issue was slightly unresolved, he didn’t actually expect Naruto to ask him again. His mind tried to wrap around the idea of kissing Naruto, but he failed miserably. It wasn’t as if he were exceedingly disgusted by the idea, but just thinking about it felt strange. The thought of kissing _anyone_ was peculiar, but Naruto…?

A coarse hand on his clothed knee shocked him out of his befuddled thoughts. Instinctively, he turned, only to find Naruto a hand-width apart from his face. “Sasuke?” he breathed, blinking at him. His entire body burned from the embarrassment of having the blonde so close to him, but Sasuke couldn’t bring himself to move away. “Just once, okay? Just once.”

With that, Naruto closed his eyes and leaned forward tentatively. In his blindness, he had caught onto the corner of Sasuke’s mouth and bumped their noses together. Slight mortification made him grip the fire-controller’s knee harder, but he tilted his head slightly to fix his error. The dry, soft brushing against his lips made Sasuke clench his eyes shut as well, though his expression resembled one of intense pain than pleasure. Still, he pressed back slightly.

It really wasn’t much. Both of their lips were chapped, and it was naught more than a simple pressure exerted by both parties. But the intimacy implied by a kiss and the general intentions behind it _made_ it something much more. When they drew apart, their faces were a brilliant rouge, either from the fire, embarrassment, or both. They were silent.

Naruto removed his hand from Sasuke’s knee and sat back. His eyes became magnetically pulled to the fire once more. He clasped his hands together tightly between his knees and shifted uncomfortably. “That wasn’t… bad. Or good. But it wasn’t bad either.” The previously awkward look on his face became intense as he glared at the fire. He scowled, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind. He brought a hand up to touch his lower lip.

Sasuke’s tongue came out to wet his own. What Naruto said was true: the kiss was neither good nor bad, here nor there. He didn’t know much about kisses (Sasuke wasn’t one to go around staring at people while they made out), but he knew there was something more than the chaste, almost methodical, pursing of lips together.

“One more time.”

“Huh?”

By the time the blonde had asked that, Sasuke already had him by the shoulders and moved their bodies so they were tilted toward each other. The look in his eyes was hard and determined for a second, but then his will faltered, and he almost lost it. Naruto looked somewhat bewilderedly at his friend while he regained his composure and guts. The dark-haired boy leaned firmly forward and pushed their mouths against each other again. Their eyes slipped shut, both with a stern expression of severe concentration.

This time, however, he moved his lips slightly, as if speaking without opening his mouth. Hesitantly, Naruto did the same, his hand subconsciously moving to Sasuke’s knee. With Sasuke gripping his shoulders and him putting his hand on his companion’s knee, the position was a rather intimate one.

A shuddering breath went through Sasuke’s nose as he pulled back slightly, not enough to break the kiss, but enough to let their minds clear. He broke the dry seal of his lips and leaned forward. His tongue peeked out as he gingerly touched Naruto’s bottom lip. Immediately, he withdrew it, feeling awkward and clumsy. The blonde was insistently leaning toward him, however, and he tried again, this time going higher up, to the seam of Naruto’s mouth.

The jester made an undignified noise in the back of his throat, but opened his mouth. Sasuke gasped slightly when he felt Naruto licking back at him. His fingertips tingled, but he was feeling nothing like how Naruto felt.

Sasuke’s fingers were slowly trailing down his bared arms, leaving a tingling rupture of goosebumps in their wake. Naruto couldn’t help but to notice the coarse callousness of the fire-breather’s fingertips, burned an infinite number of times by his sometimes too-aggressive pet. The hands finally settled on the crooks of his arms, where they settled somewhat awkwardly. Sasuke squeezed at his forearms lightly and bumped his chin against the jester’s. Their heads tilted back more, and the kiss deepened.

A deep sense of burning erupted from his scarred cheeks, and Naruto felt as if breathing was a horrendously laborious task. The semi-comforting scent of ash filled his nose as he inhaled deeply, though he was unsure whether it was coming from the nearby fire or from something—someone—much closer. As if mortified by the thought, his heart redoubled its efforts in bringing blood to his face. He wondered if Sasuke was feeling just as self-conscious, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and see.

Hesitantly, he began to back away from the intensity of the kiss, but Sasuke’s fingers were moving down his arms again, firmly and assuredly, the same way he dealt with his flames. Persuaded by the encouraging touch, the jester allowed the kiss to continue, and he moved his hand higher, from Sasuke’s knee to his thigh. A low, uncontrolled moan rasped past Sasuke’s throat, but, due to the sudden noise he made and his embarrassment at having made it, he stifled it.

At that moment, Naruto fully understood why Fire was always so willing to listen to his friend’s small gestures and subtle touches. Sasuke had explained to him how it worked before, but now he completely comprehended the idea.

Once, a long, long time ago, Naruto had asked Sasuke to teach him how to control fire. Kakashi never taught him because of how clumsy he was, but the elusive element had always intrigued him. To see Sasuke control and manipulate it so skillfully made him jealous. He, too, wanted to coax fire into twisting flowers for him.

Sasuke had agreed, but only begrudgingly (and after two weeks’ nagging).

Naruto remembered how Sasuke showed him the oil he coated his arms with, to prevent himself from getting burned. His arms had to be constantly shaved, lest he wanted his hairs to be singed all the time. Then, he had shown Naruto the flint powder he had rubbed thinly between his fingers to create sparks and embers tumble from his hands. He had lit a thin trail of flames along his arm to show Naruto how it worked. But most of the magic still laid in Sasuke’s pure affinity with the element.

The blonde knew, even after Sasuke showed him all his tricks, that he would never be as skillful at controlling fire, the same way Sasuke could never become a good jester. It just didn’t work that way. They had their niches and, while it was fun to explore Sasuke and Sakura’s skills, he had his own specialty too.

At the end of the night, the fire-manipulator had drawn a thin line of oil down Naruto’s arm, and lit it gently, allowing it to start on one end of the blonde’s arm and guiding it to the end. Naruto could still recall how Sasuke’s deft hands and fingers pressed against his skin here and there to keep the fire tame. By running the side of his calloused fingers against the oil, he cut off the flow of the flames, and they wisped away; removing his touch brought them back. He had been intoxicated by the way the capricious embers acted, but he was even more intrigued by the careful concentration on Sasuke’s face. He was so cautious not to accidentally let his fire burn Naruto.

It had felt deliriously wicked, having fire on his arm, dangerous yet not. Not when Sasuke was around, it wasn’t. The flames were hot and _did_ singe some of the hairs on his arm, yet it was so incredible a feeling, Naruto couldn’t even bring himself to mind.

Once Sasuke was done demonstrating, he wiped out the fire and rubbed the oil away from Naruto’s skin with his inner wrist and arm. The entire time, he had been murmuring something under his breath, explaining to the blonde how everything worked, how chary he had to be, and how many times he had accidentally hurt himself in his haste.

That had been wonderful, but he hardly thought it could compare to what was happening now.

They were still kissing, shyly trying out what they didn’t fully understand, but having more or less success with it. Naruto found out that biting Sasuke’s lip lightly got him a growl, but it felt pretty good—or decent, at least—when Sasuke did it to him. The boy probably liked it more when Naruto sucked on his tongue, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the tightened grip on his elbows meant he _didn’t_ like it.

Despite the rawness of their shared kiss, Naruto was sure he was in Heaven, but Hell didn’t seem too far off either, the way heat was pooling in his face and mouth. Kissing Sasuke was like swallowing fire. It burned so hotly, but he couldn’t draw away. It felt like having fire running down his arm and getting his arm hair singed, but not caring at all. In a way, it was absurdly dangerous but satisfying.

It was messy too, them being too inexperienced to know how to control it; so when saliva trickled down their chin, they drew away. Both of them wiped off the wetness from their faces, and Sasuke had a particularly nasty scowl.

“Okay, that’s gross,” he said bluntly as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Naruto swallowed uncertainly as he dabbed off his chin too. “Yeah. Well, everything before this was pretty good.” His tongue and lips still burned, but no more than his face did.

A jerk in Sasuke’s movement made the air go still again. “I guess so….” He looked to the floor with pink cheeks.

Their bodies were still tilted toward each other when Naruto leaned up to Sasuke for the third time that night. Knowingly, he angled his face to accommodate Sasuke’s and kissed him wetly and softly. His right hand rested gently against Sasuke’s fast pulse in his neck, and his fingertips grazed his dark hair.

He was on fire again.

Naruto opened his eyes when he pulled away, not remembering when he had closed them. Sasuke’s eyes cracked open a second later, and they looked at each other at almost-point blank. The shadows and light danced over the sharp, defined features of the fire-breather, bringing Naruto back to the time he was able to examine his face so closely—the time when Sasuke was leading fire down his arms. His countenance had been accentuated in the same manner that night.

The blonde blinked, his eyelashes nearly brushing against Sasuke’s cheeks. He parted his moist lips: “I like this.” His heart pounded as if he had said something else, but he stilled whatever words were coming out of the fire-controller’s with another chaste kiss. He repeated what he had just said: “I like this, Sasuke.”

Sasuke looked shocked, but then, a soft smile came to form on his lips. His hand came to rest on Naruto’s cheek in silent understanding.

“Aah…. I like this too, Naruto.”


End file.
